


Reviews of AZ Fell and Co Antiquarian and Unusual Books (Part 2)

by IneffableFangirl_writes



Series: Yelp! Review Expansion Series (Reviews of AZ Fell and Co Antiquarian and Unusual Books) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Is Soft, Crowley is smitten, ItsClydeBitches, M/M, Queer Characters, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Yelp Reviews, bookshop stories, ineffable husbands, yelp review expansion fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-01-26 05:56:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableFangirl_writes/pseuds/IneffableFangirl_writes
Summary: Continued Expansion of the Yelp! reviews of AZ Fell and Co created by the charming ItsClydeBitches
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Yelp! Review Expansion Series (Reviews of AZ Fell and Co Antiquarian and Unusual Books) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499189
Comments: 133
Kudos: 590





	1. Derek J

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ItsClydeBitches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sparse Clutter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364431) by [ItsClydeBitches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches). 

Chapter 1: Derek J

I’m a simple guy who likes simple jokes. If there’s a whoopee cushion I plant it. I will call you up to ask if your refrigerator is running and then tell you to go catch it. (Actually that one died out so thoroughly it’s actually capable of a comeback now!). Yes, I’m a dad and yes, I have a t-shirt that says Dad Jokes? I Think You Mean Rad Jokes! which I wear un-ironically every Saturday. All of which is just to say that my wife was well prepared for my stupidity when I walked into Fell’s.

I? I was not.

You see the bibles when you walk in? The ones to the left? Let them be. Don’t even look at them. Definitely don’t pick out the fanciest one you can find and absolutely don’t walk up to the owner with it held in your pudgy little fingers, grinning like a loon, cheerfully asking whether this should be in the fiction section. Just don’t. Mark my words you’ll regret it. Though your wife won’t. She’ll get a great old laugh out of it all.

In conclusion: it’s quite possible that mama did raise a fool and he just got his ass verbally whooped by a guy in a bowtie.  
____________

Aziraphale was an uncommonly pleasant being by nature. Yes, he was an angel, but he was also blessed with the temperament of a fussy, anxious, unbearably sweet person. This was not to say that he couldn’t be bothered or riled up. And there was nothing Crowley liked quite as much as seeing him riled up. Generally, the riling up was done after the shop was closed and Crowley could make full use of his hands and tongue, but there was the occasional customer who said or did something that made Aziraphale’s wrath peek out from behind his tartan bowtie and it was magnificent. An enormous turn-on, yes, but also just thoroughly enjoyable to watch.

  
Crowley was aware of a somewhat popular Yelp! Page for the shop which he skimmed now and then but didn’t tell his angel about, partially because Aziraphale might become overly concerned with his reviews and partially because he didn’t want to have Aziraphale on Yelp wreaking havoc with reviews of all of this favorite restaurants and shops, adding details that he couldn’t possibly know about. He loved his angel fiercely and Aziraphale’s sweetness and tendency to over-share just a bit would cause trouble on the web. The angel was bustling about his shop when the bell on the door rang. Crowley hadn’t quite settled into his spot in the back corner with the CRV set and a Golden Girls marathon and he looked up, interested, as the man noticed the Bibles and made a beeline for them.

  
The couple was American, but this was London and tourists were common. The Bibles weren’t Aziraphale’s most prized books, but they were still close to his heart and as the man selected an older edition with lovingly restored covers and grinned at his wife, who looked resigned but not unhappy. Crowley leaned against the end of a shelf and flicked his tongue out, tasting the air. It tasted like mischief.

  
“Excuse me sir,” the American said, and his wife rolled her eyes, clearly used to whatever he was about to begin.

  
Aziraphale looked up, perfectly pleasant until he saw the Bible in the man’s hands. He was going to inform the man that the Bible was not for sale, Crowley was sure of it. The angel was going to tell him in the way the English had perfected--polite enough to cut with a heap of condescension--that there had been an error, his tone implying that the error was entirely on the fault of the potential customer. But then the man spoke again and Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses before he flopped himself into a chair to watch the theatrics.

  
“Shouldn’t this be in the fiction section?”

  
Aziraphale was a warrior of heaven and had once carried a flaming sword in the great war between Heaven and Hell, but if you’d never seen him wreathed in light and bearing down with the might of the Almighty behind him, his frustration would look to you a bit like a disgruntled pigeon, puffed large with a tight little mouth, manicured fingers clutching whatever he happened to be carrying at the moment.

  
“I beg your pardon?” the angel replied. The fluffing was already beginning--his hair took on a little more volume and in his surprise, Aziraphale stood up a little straighter, eyes narrowing minutely.

  
The man only grinned at him and as Aziraphale opened his mouth, Crowley fell a little more in love with him.

  
“Are you aware of how many thousands of years it took for all of this to be recorded? Collecting the stories which had been told by word of mouth and passed from generation to generation, originally from the mouths of prophets or the Almighty herself?”  
The grin faded somewhat from the man’s face, but his wife looked delighted and she took a chair near Crowley’s to watch the show, glancing at him momentarily to confirm that yes, he was just as entertained as she was.  
“After years of oral tradition, getting the stories written down in ink on parchment of papyrus, finding a way to keep that book safe and protected because every letter, every line was done by hand, every picture painted with brushes made from eyelashes, is that humorous to you? Do you trivialize the process of illumination by monks and sisters while they were under attack all the time, having within their walls some of the most valuable materials known to the human world? Or perhaps the idea of carrying a book of the Lord’s word in secret to keep it safe is all a game to you, is that it? The idea that humans could care so much about the records of their people that they would die for it? Or perhaps the concept of Gutenburg’s letters painstakingly lined up on press after press just to make a single page when the book contained hundreds, perhaps that is where you find humor?”

  
Crowley couldn’t see his own face, but if he could, he would have recognized the pleased, lovesick expression as the same one Aziraphale wore when Crowley brought him a particularly nice box of chocolates. What an incredible being he’d fallen in love with. What an incredible, indescribably beautiful angel. In his pocket there was a little box, currently empty, into which he would place a gold band once he’d found the perfect one. Marriage was a human practice, but it would delight Aziraphale to be proposed to, romanced, primped and spoiled and dressed in his finest suit to tell Crowley that he would indeed spend eternity with him. If he did agree, of course. There was a pit in where Crowley’s gut should be that whispered Aziraphale would never agree, that he’d come to his senses and see that he’d partnered himself with a demon not worth the sand beneath his feet. Aziraphale spent a good amount of time praising him, reassuring him that he was worthy and beloved, but six thousand years of reminders that he was damned were not so easily washed away.

  
In his musings, he’d missed a solid three minutes of his angel’s tirade. The American woman was laughing, muffling the sound with her hand pressed to her mouth, but her shoulders shook with mirth.  
Aziraphale was winding down by that point, but still had plenty to say about truth and knowledge and the respect that each and every volume deserved. By the time he was finished, the angel had snatched the book from the man’s hands, given him a thorough dressing-down, and looked as though he was going to go into a lecture about something else when the man’s wife took him by the elbow.

  
“So sorry to bother you,” she said politely, though she couldn’t keep the grin from her face. “I’ll take him out of your shop.”

  
Still chuckling, she lead her husband out of the bookshop as Aziraphale skimmed his hands over the Bible, examining it for any damage before he carried it lovingly back to the shelf and nestled it among its fellows.

  
“The nerve,” mutteres Aziraphale, looking very much like a disgruntled pigeon. Crowley stood and sauntered over, running a hand down the angel’s spine.

  
“You certainly gave him a lot to think about.”

  
Aziraphale nodded and huffed a bit more, then bustled off into the back room to make himself a cup of tea. Crowley trailed after him, just happy to watch his angel.


	2. Rose P.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.
> 
> You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”
> 
> That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!
> 
> Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.

You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!

Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

___________

The bookshop wasn’t a place people usually popped into on sunny days in London. This was partially because of the rarity of sunny days and partially because Aziraphale took long lunches and tea breaks then and flipped the sign to ‘closed’. Part of that particular morning had been spent kissing Crowley. They’d coupled recently enough that Aziraphale was still pleasantly sore and instead of repeating the experience, they’d spent an hour or so of the morning lounging on the sofa in the back room and exchanging slow, tender kisses. The angel could have miracled away the soreness, but he didn’t want to. He liked feeling the effects of Crowley’s enthusiasm. Much to Crowley’s chagrin, Aziraphale eventually decided that he needed to open the shop and couldn’t spend the entire day exchanging kisses with his love. Because he had no intention of leaving, Crowley found a chair to lounge in while Aziraphale bustled around opening the shop, dusting and tidying. 

The thing that humans didn’t understand about Crowley and Aziraphale was that they weren’t men. They weren’t male or female, they were a sort of both-and-neither. Their corporations were able to be manipulated into appearing any number of different ways, from hair and bone structure to genitals and other physical aspects. Gender was a fun little concept to play with, but a little too simplistic for the likes of them. Still, they had to call each other something and at the moment they were both manifesting themselves as male so they used the appropriate pronouns. Crowley had been female before, as had Aziraphale, but they’d settled comfortably into the forms that they wore and swapping everything was more trouble than it was worth unless they had a little time to devote to all the minutiae of performing human gender. It was a bit annoying, having to adjust everything so humans weren’t confused, and depending on the year and the culture, the rules shifted this way and that--it was terribly difficult for Aziraphale to keep up, and Crowley didn’t seem to care either way. 

One of the regulars stood by the window, not really looking in, but hovering indecisively, unsure whether to come in or walk past. Aziraphale looked up and flashed a smile at the human, though it wasn’t clear if they saw this or not. After a minute or two, they shuffled in slowly, clearly hesitant to enter. Crowley glanced at the human and flicked his gaze to his partner, then back to the human. Aziraphale gave him a significant look in reply, but said nothing other than,

“Hello my dear! Been awhile, how have you been? I’m enjoying your new look, lovely haircut.”

“Thanks,” they said nervously. 

“Anything you’re looking for in particular? I’m doing a bit of tidying today, dusting and the like.”

“I’ve changed my name,” the girl said quickly. “I go by Rose now.”

“Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

The girl’s body, which had been stiff and wary, relaxed. This clearly wasn’t the response that she expected.

“Anyone can grow white roses,” Crowley replied from behind his phone. He was playing one of those matching games with berries or gems or pastries or bubbles and swiping this way and that to clear the board.

“They’re boring, angel.”

“I like roses,” Aziraphale replied somewhat huffily, and Crowley nodded, still not looking up. Aziraphale was nothing if not old-fashioned.

“You don’t need  _ just _ white ones, though, do you? I’m working on a variety that’s white but the edges of the petals are a golden yellow. Still working on it being just the edges, though. Needs another generation before I perfect the breed.”

Aziraphale looked at the Henredon chair doubtfully.

“I’m not sure that yellow edges will look as nice...you can grow the regular white ones, can’t you? They’d look splendid in a crystal vase--maybe that one from France that I like? Marie Antoinette’s vase?”

“I know the vase. I don’t see what’s wrong with yellow edges. More interesting, having something a little different.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them, I just want white ones.”

Crowley sighed and double-tapped his phone screen.

“Whatever you like.”

“Splendid. You’ll get some white roses then?”

“I’ll look into it, angel.”

“Lovely. Now, Rose, dear, what is it you’re looking for today? A bit more poetry?”

“I was actually wondering what you had of the Canterbury Tales? We’re reading them in class and I wanted to see if the version we were reading matched up with any older versions. You said you had a copy from the 1700s.”

“I do indeed, though you’ll have to wear cotton gloves to look through it. The pages are very delicate.”

“I don’t mind.”

“If you go to the table in the back, I’ll bring it out along with a pair of archival gloves.”

“Thanks Mr. Fell.”

“Of course, my dear girl. Back in a moment.”

Crowley glanced up as the girl walked further into the bookshop. She looked happy, relieved. Humans made a big deal about gender, particularly other peoples’ genders, and it seemed that Rose had expected that sort of pushback from them as well. He resisted snorting and instead did a little bit of a curse, just a tiny one, so the next person who gave Rose a hard time about her gender would come down with some painful boils in a very sensitive place. 

Aziraphale returned with the antique Chaucer and set it on the table before Rose, handing her a pair of white cotton gloves. Usually he’d hover over someone looking at a book that old and valuable, but he’d known Rose since she was about ten and she’d learned how to care for his prized books. 

“Just let me know when you’re done, my dear, and I’ll come put it away.”

“Thanks Mr. Fell. I brought my notebook, I’ll be making a few notes. Might be awhile.”

“However much time you need. I’ll be around, just give us a shout when you’re finished.”

Aziraphale resumed his dusting and tidying. He could have miracled it clean, of course, but part of his love of the bookshop was its care. He wiped shelved down with a damp rag, polished the end tables with a little furniture oil, dusted the knickknacks and art and stacks of books that hadn’t yet found a shelf they fit on. Crowley won his game and started another. Once Aziraphale had bustled about the whole shop, he sat down in a chair close to Crowley’s and picked up an Agatha Christie. 

“I was thinking of naming them ‘Angel’s Halo’.”

“Hmm?”

“The hybrid tea roses I’m breeding. White with yellow edges on the petals. I was thinking of calling the variety Angel’s Halo.” 

He flushed a little pink as he said it, concentrating intently on his phone instead of the angel who was practically beaming at him.

“Oh Crowley!”

“I could call them something else. It was just an idea. White with gold edges though, bit like an angel’s head and a halo.”

“Don’t you dare call them something else.”

“If you like it that much,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“You really are a darling.”

“I’m no such thing. M’a demon.”

“Yes darling.”

Rose came out from the back of the shop with a notebook under her arm and a pen tucked behind her ear. 

“Mr. Fell? I think I’ve finished.”

“All right then, I’ll take care of it from here. Do enjoy the rest of your day.”

“I will, thanks!”

Rose walked out of the shop and Aziraphale looked slyly at Crowley.

“I don’t suppose I could tempt you to some lunch? I have a few questions about the new roses you’re growing.”

Behind his glasses, Crowley’s eye crinkled into a smile. 


	3. Audrey Q.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

___________________

Once the world had ended, then not ended, it was the hope of both Aziraphale and Crowley that their respective head offices would leave them alone. The body swap and respective holy water bath and hellfire shower had been a fairly solid insurance plan against being bothered. That was, until the bell on the bookshop door rang and in walked a tall, white, broad-shouldered man with violet eyes.

“Hello!” the man said cheerily and Aziraphale’s head jerked up, entire body tensing. He wished for his flaming sword as he thought of Crowley, napping on the couch in a back corner of the shop, probably in front of the old CRT set with some television program running. He had a few shows that he watched, the one with the old American women that lived together, the mother and daughter in the small town, also Americans. There was also the one with the little old lady detective, she was English, and there were some others, Azitaphale had a hard time keeping track. However, the only thing that he could think as he saw Gabriel standing in his bookshop was that he had to protect Crowley at any cost.

“Gabriel,” he said cordially.

“Hello!” Gabriel repeated in a shout. “I am here to procure some of your finest pornography!”

Relief washed over his corporeal form and Aziraphale ushered Gabriel into the back room and closed the door, putting another barrier between the archangel and Crowley. Whatever Gabriel knew or suspected, he was not going to harm the dearest being to him in the universe. He’d take another hellfire shower rather than let that happen, this time in his own body.

“Humans,” Gabriel chuckled, “Are so stupid. And so embarassed about their pornography. It’s too easy to fool them.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said. “Is there something that you need, Gabriel? I thought we had an understanding in place that I would not be called upon.”

A muscle in Gabriel’s jaw twitched and Aziraphale stopped himself from raising his pale eyebrows in surprise. Gabriel didn’t want to be here. If the tension in his neck and shoulders was anything to go by, he was furious and pasting on a smile for the good of the company, that is, Heaven. He hadn’t enjoyed telling battalions of angels to stand down and Aziraphale was certain that in Gabriel’s eyes, the blame belonged to a Principality who owned a bookshop in Soho. 

“Yes, that was the understanding,” Gabriel said tightly. The smile was still on his face, which was almost more disturbing than if he had looked as angry as he likely felt. Aziraphale waited for him to continue, though it was fairly clear that Gabriel wanted him to ask the archangel why he was there. He didn’t. After a long moment where the pressure in the room raised enough to make the ears of a human pop like they were in a rapidly descending airplane, Gabriel bit out his request.

“I have orders to ask,” he nearly spat out the word ‘ask’, clearly of the opinion that Principalities were not asked, they were told. “To ask you,” he repeated, as though it was causing him physical pain to say it. “If you would be willing to do the occasional freelance job for Heaven. The Metatron themself said it is the Almighty’s intention to keep your specialized skills on the list of Heaven’s assets.” 

“What sorts of freelance work?”

“That wasn’t made clear,” Gabriel growled. “Apparently an angel with an immunity to hellfire is the sort of tool we want if Satan decides to send Hell on some kind of revenge mission for the corruption and disobedience of his son.”

“Former son,” Aziraphale corrected. “Adam Young appears to be a perfectly ordinary human boy.”

The key word that made Aziraphale’s statement true was ‘appears to be’ because unless you happened to notice the occasional convenient coincidences that seemed to occur around him too often for them to be coincidences, he really did look like an ordinary young man with a little dog and a band of friends who enjoyed messing around in the woods and getting into trouble. Gabriel didn’t appear to appreciate the correction.

“Yes or no, Aziraphale? I have things to do other than wait for you to make up your mind.”

“Well I suppose if I am allowed discretion and can negotiate the terms of my assignments, I would accept freelance work.”

It was truly astonishing how Gabriel could smile while looking as though he would like to strangle Aziraphale and then smite him and then maybe issue him a new body exclusively so he could do it again. When Gabriel didn’t say anything, Aziraphale rested his hand on the doorknob.

“Is there anything else?”

He could sense Crowley on the other side of the door and with a cheery shove, he flung the door open, sending the demon sprawling back. Stepping neatly out into the shop, Aziraphale used his body to block Gabriel’s view of the back of the shop, gesturing towards the front entrance.

“I also have things on the agenda for today if that’s everything.”

Gabriel’s jaw worked for a moment before his eerie smile reappeared and he nodded to Aziraphale. 

“I’ll let them know you accepted.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale agreed, and he watched as the archangel marched out, only breathing a sigh of relief when the front door had swung shut. Only then did he turn to where Crowley was standing with a letter opener held in front of him like a very small dagger.

“My dear boy, are you all right? I didn’t mean to hit you so hard with the door, but I thought it would be best to avoid questions and I’d hate for any harm to come to you after all we’ve been through.”

He gently took the letter opener from Crowley’s hand and placed it into the drawer of a little side table that held a stack of books topped with a soapstone figurine that looked like a unicorn.

“What did he want?” Crowley practically growled and Aziraphale patted him on the arm reassuringly.

“Just a job offer, nothing to be concerned about my dear.”

“You’re going back?” Even with his eyes covered, he looked wounded, but after a moment he had shuffled the emotion away, put on his cool, unbothered expression.

“Of course I’m not going back!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Apparently the Metatron asked if I would be willing to do occasional freelance work. My immunity to hellfire was cited.”

Crowley would deny that he relaxed, but Aziraphale saw the lines of his body loosen. Uncaring that the shop was still open and there were two customers milling about up front, the angel pulled his demon close and pressed a kiss to his hair.

“There isn’t a thing in Heaven or on Earth that could convince me to leave your side, my darling.”

“Angel,” Crowley mumbled, embarrassed. He was keeping the blood from rushing to his face and making him blush with sheer force of will. He was a demon for Someone’s sake, not a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Not a thing,” Aziraphale repeated, pressing another kiss to the deep copper hair. He had to stretch a little because Crowley was taller than he was, but the serpent was in an ever-present slouch so it wasn’t too far to reach. 

“All right, I get it. No need for all that,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale smiled at him before pressing a kiss to his cheek. This time Crowley did blush, and Aziraphale thought it looked absolutely lovely, but didn’t say anything else about it. 


	4. Jason M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holy sweet baby jesus I was tripping balls last week you tryin’ to tell me that kING KONG SIZED FANGED FUCK SNAKE IS REAL

The demon Crowley had two forms. One was human-like and one was serpent-like. The actual size of the serpent was about the size of a reticulated python--at least six meters. It was probably longer than six meters, but Crowley had never felt the need to lay along a tape measure or a meter-stick and thus didn’t know his exact length. Because it was incredibly inconvenient to be that large of a snake, Crowley usually settled to about the size of a dwarf reticulated python, only about three meters. It was still large enough to be intimidating but not so bulky that he couldn’t drape over furniture or his angel without squashing anything. Aziraphale was resistant to being crushed, but he got very touchy about his books and knickknacks.   
Many of the regulars to the shop were familiar with the fact that Mr. Fell kept a very large snake in his bookshop and that it had free reign of the place. The unspoken, unwritten, unmentioned rule was that you gave the snake its space and if you absolutely needed something and had to step over/around/under/near the beast, you would approach it politely and say ‘excuse me’ as you went by, so as not to startle it. The snake would sometimes look irritated with you, but he only reared up and showed his fangs when he felt threatened or was very put out. It had only happened a few times as far as anyone knew--there was an incident with a drunk where the snake had come to the front of the shop to scare off the menace, and once another time when some fool had tried to break in, perhaps a decade past. That story was only ever heard second or third-hand, but always in hushed tones. No books were stolen, but the thieves turned themselves in and the window on the door was replaced the next day, presumably with their apologies.   
Crowley favored his snake form when he didn’t feel like talking to anyone or when he wanted to be particularly frightening. It didn’t work on the regulars, who just avoided him, but Aziraphale had been in a huff since this morning for reasons he didn’t understand or dare ask about, so instead of talking to the angel, he coiled himself on the counter next to the register, covering the whole thing. He could nap and prevent anyone from purchasing books, which would ideally make his angel feel a little better.   
The counter wasn’t his favorite napping spot. It caught a breeze whenever the door opened and papers around and under him rustled unpleasantly and there wasn’t even a sunbeam or a convenient radiator to bask in or near. Still, if something had Aziraphale in a huff, he would deal with the discomfort so that the angel would (hopefully) be in a better mood later in the afternoon. He wasn’t sure precisely why Aziraphale was feeling tetchy, but as always, he was half-afraid it was something he’d done. There wasn’t a reason to think such a thing, but that didn’t stop him from worrying, just a bit, that Aziraphale had realized that he was an irritant at his very best. Perhaps he too was feeling a bit tetchy. A few centuries of open affection and a year or so of intentional romance wasn’t enough to rewrite his eons of being scorned and stepped on (both metaphorically and literally).  
When the door opened again, the breeze shifted a receipt so it fluttered up and rustled directly in front of his nose. He raised his head a little to see a human man standing perhaps a meter past the door, just looking around. His mouth was a little slack and he seemed in awe of the place. Crowley had a bit of secondhand pride then. The man was in the best bookshop in SoHo, if not all of England, perhaps the whole world. It was right that he should be impressed. Maybe if Aziraphale was still feeling down later, he’d say something to that effect later. Not directly of course, in a casual, offhand sort of way. Yes, he’d consider doing that; Aziraphale would be pleased by it.   
After a full two minutes of just standing, gape-mouthed and wide-eyed at the shop, Crowley began to wonder if the man was in fact, all right. He didn’t look drunk, Crowley was intimately familiar with how various stages of inebriation looked. On drugs, probably. Or experiencing one of those human ailments where their insides were going haywire while their outsides looked completely ordinary. He resigned himself to moving and reared up a bit so he could get a better view of the situation. He blinked into his thermal vision, the man was indeed alive and appeared to be hotter in all the places he should be. Crowley blinked again. The man’s gaze had found the enormous snake and he reached out a hand, as though to try and determine if Crowley was real. The man was also across the bookshop from him, not even the longest arms would have brought them near enough to touch.   
The man continued standing and groping at the air, but after another minute, he turned away, settling his gaze on a statuette version of the David. Crowley had bought it for Aziraphale maybe a century ago as an apology or maybe a bribe. It could have been just to see Aziraphale smile, honestly, but as a demon, he was not in the practice of being honest. The point was, the man was shuffling towards the statuette, his feet never lifting from the floor like they were attached with magnets or velcro or an adhesive of some kind. So he did the reasonable thing and descended from the counter and slithered across the shop with undue speed, arriving at the table that bore the miniature David while the man was only halfway there.   
Appearing entirely unintimidated, the man continued towards statue and snake with the slow, dogged shuffle of a zombie from a film. Well that certainly wasn’t going to stand. He wasn’t just any serpent,he was the serpent that gave all the others a bad name. He was used as a motif for evil, bless it. People still talked about his temptation--admittedly, they attributed it to Satan, but still. He had a legacy and on top of that, an angel who was sulking in the back room of the best bookshop in all of London. He wasn’t going to be shown this kind of disrespect.  
Rearing up into striking position once more, he opened his mouth and flashed his fangs. Pythons weren’t poisonous, but he certainly was and he had no qualms about a bite or two for the sake of making a point. When the man didn’t slow, he hissed a little. The fangs made it easier. Still nothing. Was he losing his touch?   
Crowley shifted and changed his body so he was closer to his actual size--roughly double of what he had been only moments before. The man stopped, looking unsure, and Crowley opened his mouth again to show off his fangs. The man took a shuffling step back and encouraged, Crowley unhinged his jaw. If he started at the feet, he could swallow a man whole. He wasn’t going to, for a number of reasons including but not limited to that it would take forever to digest something that large, even with a little demonic help, and that humans tasted terrible.   
The man took a larger step back, and his shuffling increased in speed. Crowley felt a bit pleased with himself, watching the man stumble backwards until he found the door and pushed it open, fleeing to the sidewalk outside. Shrinking his form back down to his more manageable one, Crowley made his way back to the counter, feeling smug. He still had it, no question. He’d protected his angel’s bookshop and been a general menace to the public. As he started to climb back atop the counter, he paused. He ought to check on Aziraphale, even if it was just to preen a bit about shooing off a potential customer.   
The angel was perched on a three-legged stool, peering intently at a very old book. Crowley would have suspected that he was reading, except even after a minute and a half or so, he hadn’t shifted his attention to the second page. He hovered in the doorway for another minute and gave himself a stern talking to and slid across the carpet and up the stool. Aziraphale must have noticed as soon as his first coil was around the stool’s base, but he didn’t react, even once Crowley had made himself comfortable with his coils wrapped loosely around the angel, his head resting on one shoulder. Gently, he flicked his tongue out to tickle at Aziraphale’s right earlobe.   
“Hello my dear,” the bookseller said absently. Crowley tightened his coils a bit so he was more securely wrapped around the object of his affection, and nudged Aziraphale’s cheek with his nose.  
“Do you think,” the angel said softly, “That the Almighty designed me to be a shoddy angel?”  
Crowley bit him. Just a little and without any venom, mind, but a little nip on the chin as though to say, ‘stop that this instant’.   
“Ow!” Aziraphale put his fingers to the wound, checking for blood. There wasn’t any, of course. Crowley hadn’t intended to draw blood, only snap him out of a mindset that allowed him to think so poorly of himself. The snake lowered himself to the floor and became more man-shaped, his skin covered with black trousers, a black jacket, dark sunglasses.  
“What was that for?”  
“You were talking nonsensssse.” He tended to be a bit more sibilant when he’d just switched over.  
“It was a perfectly reasonable question.”  
“It’ssss not. You’re the reason the human race survived from Eden and we averted the apocalypsssssse to boot. What’s wrong? You’ve been in a mood all day.”  
Aziraphale sighed and stepped off the stool and shuffled over to the couch with a gait startlingly similar to the man from earlier.  
“I don’t know. I suppose I’ve just got a touch of what humans call ‘the blues’.”  
He sat heavily on the sofa, adjusting his waistcoat once he was seated and Crowley sat next to him, taking much less care about his clothes than the angel had.   
“Well that’s no good.”  
“No,” Aziraphale agreed glumly.  
“There’s no point in sulking if you aren’t enjoying it, and you’re not. Shall I take you to supper? Maybe a nice walk in St. James Park?”  
Aziraphale shook his head.  
“I almost feel...tired.”  
“Bed it is then.”  
“Crowley, it’s five in the afternoon.”  
“Precisely,” he said, gesturing with one hand. In an instant, the shop had been closed up and an angel and a demon were standing in a bathroom that Crowley had miracled up to be a great deal larger than the one that came with the flat above the bookshop. It had a tub deep enough to really sink into and wide enough to fit two, perhaps three if the three were a bit flexible and didn’t have hang-ups about other people’s body parts.   
The demon put the plug into the tub and turned on the taps, mostly hot with just a little touch of cold water to keep it from scalding angelic skin.  
“Rose or lavender?”  
“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale looked a bit baffled at the enormous blue-and-white tiled bathroom with its gargantuan tub and equally luxurious shower with several showerheads and ample room if you wanted to sit and have tea in it for some reason.  
“Rose,” the demon said decisively and began pouring a pale pink liquid into the tub alongside the water jetting from the tap. Bubbles formed immediately and Crowley looked intently at Aziraphale before he conjured a rubber duck from mid-air and set it along the edge of the tub.  
“Crowley, what on earth?”  
“Best cure for the blues, a good soak with plenty of bubbles. Thought you might like the duck. I can get rid of it if you don’t want it, I just thought you’d fancy one.”  
“And this will make me feel better?” He sounded doubtful, but leaned over to stick a finger in the water to test it.  
“Absolutely. If you like, I can get one of those audiobooks you like so much and put it on so you don’t worry about a book getting damp.”  
“That does sound nice,” the angel agreed.   
“Of course it does. Do you want me to stay or would you rather have some privacy?”  
Aziraphale blushed and Crowley was charmed, not for the first time, by the flush of color across the pale cheeks.   
“Well actually,” he began, and Crowley stepped back towards the door.  
“Whatever you like angel.”  
“Oh, I was thinking, um, perhaps that you could join me?” The angel was flushing crimson now and Crowley wanted to sink his teeth into him, perhaps the juncture of his neck and shoulder. They’d had sex and Aziraphale was bashful about asking for company in a bath? It was beyond adorable.   
“Anything you like,” he said again, gentler this time. “Whatever you think will make you feel better.”  
The angel was methodical and a little bashful about taking his clothes off. The clothes that he’d removed, hood-eyed, while Crowley watched. The clothes that Crowley always had to miracle folded when he stripped his lover, lest Aziraphale fret about creases or dust on his precious clothes. He was tempted to make a joke, remind Aziraphale that he had seen it all before, but there was something in the air, something soft and fragile as a soap bubble. He busied himself fetching towels so plush and fluffy that they could have been used as blankets, looking away so that Aziraphale could climb into the tub without Crowley watching him. He didn’t mean to stare, but the angel was a marvel and he was Crowley’s. He loved Crowley and would give him his body to wring pleasure out of. This incredible being belonged to him and sometimes he was still stunned by the enormity of his love for him.   
He miracled his clothes away and stepped into the tub, moving so he wouldn’t step onto Aziraphale, then slid down into the tub until the bubbles covered his shoulders. Miracling up an elastic, he bunched his hair into a messy bun atop his head--he’d been growing it out.   
“Too hot?” he asked his angel. “Not hot enough? More bubbles?”  
Aziraphale smiled at him. It was a gentle smile, affectionate, and Crowley was hit with another wave of love for the celestial being he shared a life with. Aziraphale was his. The angel’s smile warmed a bit. Right, he could sense love.  
“It’s lovely, dear. Just one thing...:”  
“Anything you like, angel. Whatever you want. Tea? Chocolates? A nice red?”  
“Could you take off your glasses for me? I’d like to see your eyes.”  
He did.   
And the rubber duck didn’t get any use, but even once the bathroom was set back to rights, it sat next to the sink, and later migrated to beside the kitchen sink. And Crowley didn’t say a word about it.


	5. Nicole Y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:
> 
> Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”
> 
> Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”
> 
> Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”
> 
> Me: “….”
> 
> My girlfriend: “….”
> 
> This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”
> 
> Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”

Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:

Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”

Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”

Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”

Me: “….”

My girlfriend: “….”

This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”

Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”  
_______________________

It was a rarity that Aziraphale left the shop in Crowley’s care. It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t trust Crowley, it was more about his very precise specifications as to how the shop ought to be run. However, there was an estate sale with a number of books he’d wanted and Crowley had urged him to go, take a day trip and get the books, maybe stop at one of those little shops that sold scones and teacakes and other confections that his angel enjoyed. After a bit of convincing on the part of a demon, Aziraphale set off on a train trip with fifty quid tucked into his vest pocket because Crowley knew that he liked to leave generous tips.   
Aziraphale had answered two calls before Crowley drove him to the station and gave him a peck on the lips before bidding him goodbye. It all felt very domestic, dropping his partner off at a train station with a bit of money for treat tucked into his pocket, but he didn’t mind. In fact, the feeling made him pull the omni-present little velvet box that stayed in any outfit he wore, save for pyjamas. He peered at the gold ring until someone behind him blared on their horn and jolted him out of his musings. He’d had it made specifically for Aziraphale, none of that run-of-the-mill stuff for his angel. It was gold, yes, but it also had chips of a black and white diamonds that had been removed from a meteorite. A meteorite which originated from one of Crowley’s galaxies. Originally, he’d wanted to use a star as the stone, but without constant miracles to keep it from causing a lot of physics-based disasters, the star wasn’t a viable option.   
Parking in front of the bookshop, he strolled in and opened up for the day, lounging behind the desk and playing on his phone. Some of Aziraphale’s Saturday regulars came in--an assortment of young queer humans, the eternal browsers that would look for hours but never buy anything, and a lesbian couple who each selected a volume and sat in one of the convenient sitting areas and began to read.It was a quiet Saturday and Crowley was grateful. He wasn’t interested in doing business ever, nor was he planning to spend his time convincing humans not to buy books. The little cluster of people treating the shop as a library were fine; they understood how things worked. They didn’t bother him, he didn’t glower at them until they left.   
When the bell on the door rang, he didn’t even look up from his phone, instead sliding five candies together to form a little gummy fish which would be useful in a few moves. Nor did he look up when he sensed someone standing in front of the counter. If they didn’t know how the shop worked, he wasn’t there to teach them. When the person cleared their throat pointedly, Crowley made another move in his game which gave him a large point bonus.  
“You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with other the phone?” The tone was gruff and unfriendly and Crowley looked up leisurely, making it abundantly clear that the man in front of the counter was in no way a priority for him. He took another moment to look the man over, not bothering to put the phone down. He could appreciate rudeness in the right contexts, he was a demon after all, but it was no secret that AZ Fell and Co was run by one man, and that another loitered about. He was the loitering one, but still, there were only two possible people that the man could have spoken with. Actually, it could only be Aziraphale because Crowley didn’t pick up the bookshop phone ever. The only reason he picked up his mobile was when it was Aziraphale or someone worth speaking to. This man did not fall into any of those categories.  
“Did this man give you his name?” He drawled.  
“Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”  
Behind the man, both lesbians and a teenager looked up, displaying varying degrees of alarm. Crowley let his remark sit in the air for a moment.  
“None of us have wings,” he said dryly. “Out!”  
All three of the people in the sitting area looked delighted at this outcome and as the grouchy man stomped out of the shop, Crowley returned his attention to his phone. He could probably finish another ten levels before he had to go pick up Aziraphale.  
Once he’d cleared out the shop that evening, he drove back to the train station and pulled into a parking spot, and a legal one at that. Well, a sort-of legal one. Cab parking. Nobody was going to tell him to move, anyhow, and Aziraphale’s train was late. He dug the box back out of his pocket and after looking around to make sure no one was looking, opened it.  
He hadn’t been sure he wanted to use gold, at first. Aziraphale already had a gold ring, the signet he wore on his pinky, and he didn’t want to give the angel something he already had. He wanted his ring to be special and different and nothing like anything else Aziraphale had. He had shared his angel with heaven and with earth and this object would be a symbol of their binding, the two of them together and no one else. But Aziraphale was nothing if not a traditionalist. He wore the same waistcoat for over a century and was fussy about keeping things just the way he liked them, even if the way he liked them had gone out of fashion several decades ago.   
So gold it was, but not just any gold. This gold was from nuggets he’d collected himself when he’d participated in the California Gold Rush. The gold wasn’t really the goal of his visit, it was supposedly to sow greed and dissent, but humans did just fine on their own and a bit of panning for gold seemed like a good idea after a bottle and a half of whiskey. He’d managed to get a few little rocks of it, which sat in a tin box in a drawer until the apocalypse did and didn’t happen. Then he took the nuggets, a coin from ancient rome made of a zinc alloy, and melted them down into a lump before taking the lump to a jeweler with two diamonds--one black, one white, and a very specific design in mind. ‘Angel’ was engraved on the inside of the ring and Crowley paid for the treasure with actual money, knowing Aziraphale would be displeased if he just took it.   
He heard the train whistle as it pulled into the station and he snapped the box shut, shoving it back in his pocket before he pulled out his phone and opened some game or another so he looked occupied when Azirphale opened the Bentley’s door and slid into the passenger side, a box wrapped in paper and twine clutched to his chest like a child’s beloved stuffed bear.   
“Find everything you were looking for?” Crowley asked.   
“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed agreeably, “A lovely first edition, and a second, but the second edition is signed by the author, as well as a rather hard to locate copy of a minor book of prophecy I’ve had an eye out for some twenty years.”  
“Supper?” Crowley offered, and Aziraphale tilted his head to one side, considering.  
“Sushi?”  
“The place with the sake I like.”  
“Excellent,” the angel gave a delighted little wriggle. “But the bookshop first, so I can put away the new volumes.”  
Crowley could think of a few other things he’d like to do at the bookshop, most of which involved ravishing, but he supposed it could wait until after sake.


	6. Alex J

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was totally going to be about Aziraphale being a good bookstore owner and then Crowley literally came in and drowned me in sappy feelings so I wrote that instead.

Alright alright alright alright I am TOTALLY calm about this.

Went into A.Z. Fell’s last Thursday. Not because I knew anything about the place. Just because I’ve been hitting up every bookshop within a twenty-mile radius, asking if they’re hosting any book signings. Long story short I self-published my novel Blight last month—which you can get for a mere £5 here but I swear this isn’t a promotional thing I’m just BROKE—and have been looking for networking opportunities, tips, stuff like that. So the owner listened politely as I explained all this. Then said he didn’t do anything of that sort, which didn’t surprise me given the shop’s vibe.

But then? Then??? He offered to let me do a signing there??????

As said. Totally calm about this. This man either plans to kidnap me or is actually giving me my first shot at an audience outside my blog. AKA totally worth the risk.

Tuesday the 9th. 7:00pm. Just in case anyone’s interested ;)

\------------------------------------------

The demon Crowley really loved the angel Aziraphale. He loved Aziraphale almost an embarrassing amount, enough that if anyone knew about the depth and breadth of his affection, he would melt into a puddle of goo as surely as if you’d doused him in holy water.   
He couldn’t even pretend it was lust, was the worst part. Or the best part, he couldn’t decide. After centuries of denial it was hard for him to let Aziraphale’s love crack open the layers of protection around his heart and melt the iceberg that protected his feelings from anything and everything. It was hard, but there were times, like that very moment, that he was overwhelmed with the magnitude of love he felt towards his angel. He drowned in it, letting it fill his lungs and carry him away like floodwaters.  
At the moment, Aziraphale was listening intently to a young man who was holding a shiny new paperback--the newest thing in the shop by at least fifty years, and explaining in halting nervousness---something. Crowley didn’t particularly care what the something was because he was looking at Aziraphale’s face, really looking at it. Not pretending to be looking at something else or passing it off as staring into space but honest-to-earth drinking him in with his eyes behind his round sunglasses. How was it that he could just look at Aziraphale and not be struck down? How was it that the same soft smile and attentiveness that was currently being trained on a human talking about ‘blight’ would turn on him when the shop closed for the evening?   
That those hands, one with an eccentric gold ring on the pinky and all ten nails manicured and buffed neatly had held his hand, had run through his hair, had unbuttoned his shirt, his trousers, had caressed the skin of his belly and run down his spine. How could it be? How was it that the Serpent of Eden and the Angel of the Eastern Gate were together again in the way they had been in the beginning, but somehow closer? Better? It was the sort of thing that made a person half-believe in the goodness of the Almighty. Not a demon of course, Crowley was strictly mischief and mayhem, but perhaps someone else a bit more human could have.   
The human was thanking Aziraphale now, enthusiastically, shaking his hand and nodding and babbling faster than before. Crowley attempted to school his expression into one a little less lovesick--he was a demon for Someone’s sake. It didn’t do for him to look like he’d just been hit upside the head with a stone cupid figurine. Still, once the human left, still thanking the angel, Aziraphale turned his attention to Crowley.  
“My dear, are we feeling sentimental?”  
“What? Me? Nah, must be some passing humans. You know how emotional they can get.”  
He couldn’t even lie convincingly to Aziraphale. It was pathetic, really.  
“So the overflow of love I felt just now, perhaps a couple courting on the street?”  
He walked to the door and made a show of peering out onto the sidewalk before closing the door, locking it, and flipping the sign to ‘Closed.’   
“Probably, yeah. You know how they are. With their...feelings.”  
Aziraphale smiled and began lowering the blinds for the windows one by one.  
“Of course, dear boy. Such dramatic creatures, humans.”  
Crowley was hit with another wave of adoration so powerful that he should have been disgusted with himself. He couldn’t muster it up, though. He could only watch the being he loved most in all of creation fiddle with the blinds and fuss at one of the window-drapings. And when it was all done and Aziraphale was standing toe-to-toe with him, the only thing he could reasonably think to do was kiss him. So he did.   
No matter how many times he kissed Aziraphale, it was always a revelation, always a little thrill up his spine that this was allowed, that this was welcome, that Aziraphale felt the same thing for him. Perhaps in a few centuries that would change, but he doubted it.  
He was gentle at first using his mouth to try and convey the spring of love bubbling over from within him, trying to say to his angel ‘I love you! I love you!’ in a way that he couldn’t seem to manage with words. Even when he said them, they weren’t enough. They fell short.   
“What has gotten into you, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, brushing his mouth against Crowley’s again. “Not that I’m complaining by any means.”  
“Love you,” Crowley said, and he gently tugged Aziraphale’s lower lip with his teeth.   
“And I you, my darling.”  
The first bite hadn’t been quite enough so Crowley gave him another, this one on his throat, ever-so-gently, just a scrape of teeth, not enough to break the skin.  
“Are we feeling amorous this evening?” Aziraphale asked, sounding a little breathless. Even the fact that he used the word ‘amorous’ was endearing; Crowley was really turning into a sap. It was unacceptable. Un-demonic, really. He couldn’t bring himself to care, especially when he nuzzled Aziraphale’s throat in the same spot he’d bitten.  
“Let me take care of you, angel.” His voice was low and hoarse already, a little breathless even.  
“Anything you like, Crowley. What is it that you want?”  
Crowley snapped his fingers. If there was a time for frivolous miracles, it was at that exact moment.  
They were in the bathroom, a tub full of rose-scented water steaming in front of them and a shelf full of various fancy soaps and shampoos and creams just beside the tub.  
“How does a bath sound?” Crowley purred.  
“Like exactly the thing.”  
The demon was gentle as he began undressing his angel, but insistent. The coat came off, then the waistcoat and the bow tie. The shoes and socks. The shirt and trousers. The underthings.  
“Like unwrapping a present,” Crowley murmured, pressing his lips to the small of Aziraphale’s back. He wanted to take another bite, but first he would lavish his angel in affection. His love did so enjoy being coddled and pampered and who was he to deny that? If you wanted to look at it sideways, it could almost be temptation.   
Aziraphale stepped into the tub and sighed as he settled down amongst the suds. Crowley miracled up a jug of hot water beside all the soaps and held out two bottles before Aziraphale.  
“The rose or the lavender tonight?”  
“Is there any of that spicy one?”  
“My good shampoo?”  
Aziraphale wriggled a bit, settling himself a few centimeters deeper into the tub.  
“Mm-hmm. I want to smell like you.”  
“You will,” Crowley purred, his voice a low promise. “No matter what you pick, by the end of the night you’ll be covered in my scent.”  
“The lavender then,” Aziraphale said, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. The demon gave him the desired peck on the lips before shielding his eyes and pouring the water slowly over his blonde curls. Aziraphale’s hair didn’t strictly need washing, but he enjoyed having Crowley do it so much that the serpent couldn’t think of a single reason not to indulge him.


	7. Jordan T.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This shop gets full stars simply because every time I walk in they’re playing Queen.
> 
> I mean, I’ve walked in once, but once is enough when you’ve got Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasting full volume.

As it has been stated before, Crowley was not asked to watch the bookshop very often. Aziraphale was very particular and other than to get something to eat or meet Crowley out at the theatre or something, he really preferred to stay in the shop or in the little flat above. On that day, however, he’d been very insistent about going to visit one of his pet projects, a school library that he funded and donated books to. It had started after he’d met Adam and his band of friends, the desire to make sure that young people had access to reading material. Nothing as nice as his collection, of course, but you learned to walk before you learned to fly, or so he understood the expression went. He’d taken an umbrella and a taxi to the school and left a note on the desk for Crowley to find explaining exactly that. Crowley had taken a few days to sleep and he had a key to the shop in more ways than one.  
Finding the note, Crowley stuffed it into the pocket of his improbably tight trousers and hooked his phone up to the set of Bluetooth speakers he’d arranged around the shop for the ideal listening experience. Aziraphale insisted that he preferred listening to his records on the Victrola but Crowley hadn’t heard him complain when he’d miracled a connection between the two so he could listen to classical music in surround sound.   
He put on his Queen playlist and decided to indulge himself in dancing along at the very back of the shop where there was no chance of anyone spotting him through the window. He could be a decent dancer when the situation required, but in his opinion, it was rarely required. Perhaps Aziraphale might like dancing with him? Not the gavotte, not unless it was a very special occasion or if he’d royally fucked up and needed to apologise, but a waltz perhaps? Something slow and stately? The hip-shaking, limb-flailing sort of dance he was doing was neither slow nor stately, but in his opinion, both of those things were highly overrated.   
He actually recalled being on set during one of the music videos Freddie shot and tried to remember the choreography. There had been a pole involved, he was almost certain. And leather jackets. To be honest he’d been taking samples of some of the substances available around musicians at that time and it made the whole day...week...year...a bit fuzzy in places.   
He mouthed the words along with Freddie. Aziraphale wasn’t really a ‘she’, but he wasn’t a ‘he’ either, it was just easier to pick a set of pronouns and stick with them.  
“There goes my baby  
She knows how to rock 'n' roll  
She drives me crazy  
She gives me hot and cold fever  
Then she leaves me in a cool cool sweat”  
Crowley actually gave a little shiver at the last thing he’d done with Aziraphale that had warmed their corporations enough that they both had allowed sweat to form on their skin for the purpose of some cooling off.   
“This thing called love, I just can’t handle it,” Freddie sang and Crowley found himself nodding along. He could certainly relate. Love was certainly an experience. He was really getting into it when he heard a voice call,  
“Awesome!” from somewhere else in the shop. Crowley immediately froze and stalked through the shop with an air of what he hoped was menace but was actually mild embarrassment.   
He peered out from behind a bookcase and watched a human nod along with the music as he walked around, trailing a finger over the spines of books and peering at the sculptures. When the song ended another began, this one “Radio Gaga”, Crowley continued watching the browser nod approvingly and continue his browsing. Crowley checked the time on his phone. Aziraphale wouldn’t be back for at least another half hour, but if he was here he’d be fretting about the human trailing his fingers over all of the spines in the display area, even though those were the ones he left out front because of lesser value and emotional attachment. He watched through another song and waited for the human to get bored or to seek out assistance. They did neither. He looked at his phone again. Twenty-four minutes at the earliest, but he didn’t want Aziraphale to come back to a customer and go from relaxed to fretting in record time. He strolled out into the front of the shop, watching the human realize that he was present. They gave a sort of wave and continued browsing.  
Crowley put out an air of low-level menace but the fact that “Bicycle” was currently blaring from the speakers completely negated it. He thought briefly of the book girl on her bike and wondered if Aziraphale had spoken with her recently. He liked to keep in touch with the humans they’d met surrounding the whole apocalypse debacle. Crowley would admit that the children were amusing, but the adults were mostly boring. The song changed again, “I Want to Break Free.” Crowley wished idly that the human would remember an errand they had to run and remembered in a mortifying moment that he was, in fact, a demon, and could make it so the human did have an errand they needed to run. For Someone’s sake, he was losing his touch.  
Flicking his fingers in the human’s general direction, they stood up and checked their own phone, before offering another cheery wave to the demon and walking out of the shop.   
Crowley fingered the box that was nearly always in one of his pockets before miracling it back to his locked desk drawer in his flat. He liked having it on his person, but Aziraphale hadn’t seen him in a few days and would probably want to hug him or some such thing where having a ring box in your breast pocket, directly over where your heart would be, would be immediately evident. “Another One Bites the Dust” came on and he slumped onto a chair, waving at the door so it locked itself to prevent any more intrusions. He wouldn’t dream of removing his shoes, but he did arrange his limbs uncomfortably several times before changing forms entirely, curling up in his serpentine form on the armchair. The base of the music was more powerful when he was a snake and he enjoyed the throb of drums and base, swaying a little from side to side.   
This was how Aziraphale found him. As expected, he scooped up Crowley with both arms and planted a little kiss on the tip of his nose.  
“There you are, my darling. Did you have a lovely nap?”  
Queen helpfully played “Somebody to Love” and he hissed softly, hoping that Aziraphale wasn’t paying attention to the music. He coiled himself up the angel’s arm, then over his shoulders.  
“Feeling affectionate today, my dear?”  
Crowley hissed again, flicking his tongue so it tickled the shell of Aziraphale’s ear, tasted the air beside his jaw.  
“I have some things I need to get done, if you don’t object?”  
Crowley arranged himself more comfortably across Aziraphale’s shoulders and rested his head on the angel’s collarbone.  
“Don’t bother to move on my account,” Aziraphale said in a tone that was meant to sound annoyed but only sounded affectionate.  
Crowley flicked his tongue again, tasting Aziraphale’s throat this time. Perhaps he could do with another very short nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having a really hard time writing during the Covid crisis due to some mental health stuff, but I wanted to try and find some of that bookshop peacefulness that I loved about writing previous chapters. Not sure when the next one will come, but I hope you're all staying home and are well.


	8. Sasha L

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.
> 
> I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention…just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.
> 
> And then Mr. Fell showed up...

Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.

I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention…just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.

And then Mr. Fell showed up.

Jesus it’s embarrassing to admit but I think I hit him once or twice. On the arms I mean, because he was trying to touch me and I figured, I don’t know, it was a restraint or something. He was going to call the police and hold me until they got there. But then he managed to start rubbing my back and I lost it like I hadn’t already been bawling my eyes out in this shop. Ever cry into a perfect stranger’s chest? I have! But if Mr. Fell seemed to mind he definitely didn’t show it. Just kept holding me while I probably ruined his shirt and then took me into the back and made me a new coffee in this cute little angel mug. He let me stay there while I called my sister and waited for her to arrive.

She’s a good twenty minutes outside of Soho, so we talked for a while. It’s not like Mr. Fell could fix my shit roommate or bio classes, but I guess just talking about it all really helped. I was a lot calmer by the time my sis arrived and Mr. Fell insisted I come back any time I wanted—for browsing or more coffee.

Of course, sis offered to pay for the book herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so surprised in my life. “Certainly not!” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

So yeah. Thanks, Mr. Fell.

______________________________

  
  


Crowley was asleep in the nook in the back with his couch and his television when he heard what sounded like hysterics. He opened one eye--Aziraphale wasn’t usually one to get into a tizzy, but if someone had upset his angel he was more than prepared to go full serpent and deal with the problem himself. The sobbing, however, was most definitely human. Crowley heard Aziraphale’s voice, hushing and comforting and though he knew his angel had everything under control, there was nothing quite like a spectacle and he enjoyed such things. He shifted slightly and let his body become a lot less human-looking and a lot more snake-looking. Nobody bothered a curious snake and he was more interested in spectating than taking part. Coiling himself up a shelf and across the shop, he hung his head over the edge of a particularly dusty copy of Gulliver’s Travels and watched as a young woman beat her fists against Aziraphale’s arms. 

His fangs came out, but he didn’t move. Aziraphale didn’t appear to be alarmed and was in fact rubbing circles into the back of the sobbing girl, making soothing noises and being generally angelic. With a flick of his tail, he made it so any other bookshop patrons remembered mildly urgent errands they had to run. As her sobs became less violent, he put a hand on her shoulder and gently ushered her into the little kitchenette and made her a coffee, even pouring it into the mug Crowley had bought for him--the one with the little white wings on it. As she dialed her mobile phone, Aziraphale looked up and made eye contact with him, raising a pale brow. 

The serpent did his best to look generally disinterested in everything and slinked back down the shelf to inspect the coffee-spattered book that had caused all the noise. He could certainly miracle it clean, but there was a good chance that the girl would come back to offer to buy it and she’d certainly be suspicious if there wasn’t any coffee on it at all. No, he’d have to wait until after they left to fix it up. Aziraphale would be pleased and if Crowley played his cards right, he’d have the shop closed early and they would be snogging on the sofa by six-thirty. He made his way back to the couch in his little nook and draped himself artfully over it so the red of his underbelly caught the light a bit. It was enough to tell humans ‘I’m venomous and you should go away’ but Aziraphale ‘I’m not asking to be admired, but I am here and I’m very handsome, not that I’m aware of it.” It was the sort of drape that had taken five or six centuries to master. While he waited, he listened.

“And I study--I really do, but my roommate comes in at all hours so I never can seem to sleep through the night and when I get to class I look at the tests and I know that I know the answers, I just can’t think of them. I read the textbook and I highlight, I take notes, I even make flash cards to quiz myself! It just seems like that no matter how much I do, it’s just below enough so I’m trying to stay afloat while managing all my other classes and trying to find a job with a boss that understand a student schedule--” she lapsed into some heavy breaths that weren’t sobs but wanted to be.

Aziraphale made some soothing noises and said the sorts of things that you were supposed to say in this situation--that you could only do your best and that you would find something and that the efforts you were making would pay off. But then he said something odd.

“My dear, you would be surprised the amount of good that having a partner can do.”

Snakes didn’t have ears, but Crowley’s would have perked up.

“Sorry?” the girl sniffed.

“In your class that you're struggling in. I’m sure you already have a laboratory partner but finding someone in the class that you get on with, one that you can bring your difficulties to, it’s a very valuable relationship to have. What is that saying, I get them all confused--a partner doubles your happiness and halves your worries? It’s something like that.”

“Sorry, I didn’t even ask about you--”

“Sasha, I know you meant no offense. There is nothing more I would like than to listen to you talk about what has you so upset.”

He sounded genuine, and Crowley knew he was. The comforting and protecting part of being an angel was never something that Aziraphale struggled with. The party line, absolutely, but he was a being of love and he did that effortlessly.

A bit later, as Sasha and Aziraphale settled into more mundane conversation topics, the bell on the door rang. Crowley reared up crossly, ready to shoo off whoever was on their way in, but another voice called,

“Sasha?”

“Back here,” Sasha called and Crowley settled back onto the couch. After a bit of shuffle, she walked back into the bookshop proper, followed by Aziraphale. 

“Thank you so much for the coffee,” Sasha said and the angel’s voice followed swiftly.

“Of course! You come back anytime you like, for browsing the books or for another cup of coffee. I enjoyed our chat.”

More shuffling sounds and the other voice asked how much the book cost and offered to pay for it.

“Certainly not!” Aziraphale sounded a bit scandalized at the very thought. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

After a bit of insisting on the part of both parties, Aziraphale shooed them out of the bookshop, wishing Sasha good luck in her classes and inviting her to come back anytime the shop was open to have a coffee and another chat. Crowley flicked his tail and judging by the little noise of surprise that came from the other side of the shop, he had miracled clean the book that his angel was currently holding. 

It took a few minutes for Aziraphale to tidy and close up the shop. He could have easily miracled it but they were trying to cut down on frivolous miracles and besides that he liked the routine of it. Crowley didn’t mind much; he was able to shift back into a more human-looking form and arrange himself in an artful sprawl on the couch. He even closed his eyes, though not to sleep, just to project the air of careless relaxation he was going for. It must have worked because after a few minutes, Aziraphale’s lips brushed gently across his forehead.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting your nap?”

They both knew he wasn’t but Crowley rolled his spine a bit and faked a yawn that turned into a real yawn halfway through. It was an interesting little glitch of human forms that yawns worked in exactly the same way they did for humans unless you remembered to turn that bit off. He didn’t usually bother--yawning was a little expression of sloth he could toss into the everyday and get it to spread across the city like a very slow but persistent wildfire. He wasn’t responsible for yawns being contagious, but he approved of it wholeheartedly. 

“I was just getting up,” he said, giving another illustrative stretch. “You’ve done a bit of good, I really ought to counteract that.”

“We’re on our side, now, remember?”

They both knew that the argument was entirely for show, but they did it anyway.

“Still, don’t want to knock things out of balance.”

“Are you going to cause another gridlock this evening to put a bit more anger and frustration into the air?”

“I was thinking,” Crowley said nonchalantly, “That I would just prevent you from doing whatever good you had planned for the evening. Nip that in the bud, balance things out.”

“Oh?”

Crowley reached an arm out and groped around until he found Aziraphale’s hip and pulled the angel towards the couch.

“That was the plan.”

“And how are you planning to detain me?”

Crowley gave a little tug and Aziraphale’s weight shifted forwards so his knees rested against the edge of the couch. With another strategic tug, he found himself with a lapful of angel. Pulling off his sunglasses and setting them onto the side table, he pressed his mouth to Aziraphale’s.

It was good every time. He had worried that kissing Aziraphale might get a bit old, that after the novelty wore off that he’d get bored or tired of it. Well he hadn’t been worried of that per se, more that he would be able to get tired of his angel. Thankfully, it hadn’t happened and didn’t appear to be on the horizon. Aziraphale sighed into his mouth and Crowley reached around to get a handful of his plush rear end, humming contentedly.

Aziraphale responded in kind, cradling Crowley’s face between his hands and kissing him enthusiastically. They could have continued their banter, but this was much better for the time being. 


	9. Halina G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.
> 
> I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too...

It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.

I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too. One of the reasons why I adore private and used shops over chain stores is that little touch of chaos. You walk in and sure, there are general sections to browse, but everything is just a little bit disorganized from people leafing through books and then putting them back somewhere else. There’s no real record keeping, you’ve just gotta head to one particular corner and hope for the best. It’s not the sort of place you go to if you want something specific because the chances of them having it are slim—that’s just how the universe works—and even if they did no employee knows where it is anymore.

But if you wander the shelves for a while, crouch down low to get a look at everything on the bottom shelf, pay attention to the books that don’t have easy to read titles or any summaries to speak of… you just might find something you didn’t know you were looking for. That’s Fell’s: the comfort of the familiar and the excitement of the unknown.

______________________

It was raining. To be fair, it was London so it rained more than it didn’t, but the rain outside lent a cozy air to the inside of the bookshop. One of the best things about the shop, Crowley had decided, was the smell. It was the place that smelled the most like Aziraphale--old paper and the hint of vanilla of glue that hadn’t been used in over a century, the aftershave that the angel’s barber used, dust, tea, and something like home that he couldn’t put his finger on. 

It was a perfect day to be browsing a SoHo bookshop and there were a few people doing just that, including one of the regulars, Halina. She was in the shop every few weeks, sometimes to browse and others to just sit and page through something new. Aziraphale had actually sold her a few books, which is the only reason Crowley remembered her name. The number of people that Aziraphale let buy his books was limited and it was very dependent on a complicated mathematical formula which included the angel’s personal attachment to the volume, the condition, the rarity, the subject matter, the character of the person, and at least six other variables that Crowley probably knew but didn’t care to remember.

Aziraphale was reading behind the counter with a cup of tea next to his elbow and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles sitting towards the edge of his nose, occasionally glancing up to keep an eye on the customers. Every now and then, Crowley would look up from his phone at the same time that Aziraphale looked up from his book and they’d exchange a not-quite-a-smile. It was a crinkling of the corners of the eyes in Aziraphale’s case and a quick peek over the top of his sunglasses for Crowley, giving his angel a flash of golden eyes. It was nice to be still while surrounded by the bustle of humanity scrambling from thing to thing. It was nice to not need to scramble. It was nice to have all the time in the world.

Halina was just within Crowley’s sightline and he watched her crouch to inspect a bottom shelf, brushing a fine layer of dust from the spines as she tilted her head to one side to read them, her lips moving minutely as she did. Aziraphale did that sometimes when he wasn’t thinking about it, moved his lips as he read. Usually it was lists or something but Crowley found it charming. On Halina it was neither good nor bad, just another human thing, but on Aziraphale it was yet another quirk he’d picked up over the centuries. 

As he found himself thinking about Aziraphale, he tucked his hand into his breast pocket and made sure the little box with the ring in it was still there. He’d manifest it into his pocket and back to his flat as many as a dozen times a day just to make sure he could touch it, reassure himself it hadn’t been lost. He had to send it back to his bottom desk drawer anytime he’d had even a change of Aziraphale touching him, worried that the angel would lean in and feel the box against his bony chest, a giant signal that he, the demon Crowley, was carrying around a gold ring that was too big for his skinny fingers. Not that he didn’t want Aziraphale to know, he just didn’t want it revealed until the right time, until his plan was in order and he knew exactly what he would say and do. Every time he thought about proposing, his legs felt all wobbly and liquid, like he’d just changed out of snake form and his body wasn’t quite ready for limbs yet. If he was going to properly romance his angel, he needed to be able to do it while standing and preferably in clear, understandable speech. It might be English, it might be Enochian, but he wanted to say it out loud and with the suave confidence that he wanted to project. 

Halina sat back on her heels, a book resting against her thighs. She opened it and inhaled the old-book smell that permeated the shop, closing her eyes for a moment. Her lashes were long and dark and Crowley was struck with an appreciation of humans for a moment. They were the reason he and Aziraphale defended the earth, after all. Humans had come up with quaint little bookshops and horrifically strong coffee and alcohol of all sorts. They had made cars and records and tea and more sunglasses designs than he would have thought possible. They had also come up with creating pleasure out of nearly anything, something that they certainly didn’t have in hell and though there was joy in heaven, humans had created earthly delights that neither Above nor Below managed to think up in a few thousand years of existence. They made ice lollies and television programmes and bowties. Crowley didn’t like bowties, except on a certain angel, but there was still something to be said about all the ways humans could fold and tuck and sew fabric. They’d come up with fashion and fashion was fun. 

The rain outside the window was such pleasant white noise that Crowley found himself craving a nice nap. He didn’t much feel like going upstairs so he rolled over and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep out in the open like this, but he could close his eyes and just listen to the noises of the shop and of traffic outside. He could hear Aziraphale turn the page of the book he was reading; he could tell it was Aziraphale in the same way he could recognize the angel’s tread on the stairs or the smell of his aftershave. As he lay there listening, he formulated a plan in his head. It was a good night to stay in and his angel liked being romanced. A nice rainy evening called for a fire in the fireplace, a good meal, some mulled wine, and if he was successful, an hour or two snogging on the sofa while a record played in the background. 

It took him another hour to sort out exactly what he wanted to do but once he had, he sat up and peered around the shop. Everything was as it should be and he stretched a smidge overdramatically before he sauntered over to the counter where Aziraphale was studying a line of text with his face crinkled in concentration. Crowley was overcome with the urge to kiss the angel and he buried his nose in Aziraphale’s collar, inhaling the scent of the being he loved.

“Something the matter, darling?”

“I’m thinking we should stay in for supper tonight. Was going to go pick up something.”

“That sounds lovely, my dear. It’s going to be raining all night, being in here with supper and maybe a bit of wine sounds positively cozy.”

“I’m going to be off for a bit then, go and pick something out. Anything you’d fancy?”

“Whatever you have in mind will be nice, I’m sure. You know what I like.”

After a few thousand meals together, Crowley did indeed know what his angel liked. He was thinking of a traditional Sunday dinner set up--Beef Wellington with mushrooms, Yorkshire pudding with a thick gravy, potatoes with thin, crispy skin and little green peas swimming in butter. Red wine, of course. Something with cream for dessert--maybe a chocolate cake with raspberries and cream? Crowley wasn’t much interested in food but he enjoyed the taste of chocolate and fruit on Aziraphale’s mouth. 

Because only the best was good enough for his angel, Crowley went to several restaurants, cafes, and bakeries before he found everything he wanted and miracled the meal to Aziraphale’s kitchen table. He wasn’t really meant to use frivolous miracles, but transporting food successfully in a car moving through London was already a miracle so really, moving it all over without the car’s involvement was less miraculous than doing it the human way and not spilling anything.

He set everything out nicely and lit a few candles. He’d spent twenty minutes agonizing over whether to get Aziraphale flowers as well but decided he didn’t want to overdo it. Besides, Aziraphale would be happier with a trip to botanical gardens or the Chelsea Flower Show. Downstairs, he could hear the angel doing his tidying up routine--shooing customers out of the shop and inevitably making small talk with one of the regulars, then dusting everything a bit, not removing the dust as much as redistributing it more evenly along the shelves. The blinds after that, or course, then flipping the sign and locking the door before adjusting a few titles here and there. For an ordinary person, the meal would have gone cold, but Crowley expected everything to be kept hot for his angel and when he heard Aziraphale start up the stairs to his flat, Crowley poured the wine.

He didn’t eat much, mostly watched Aziraphale eat, but he sipped at his wine and listened as Aziraphale told him about some bookseller who was considering getting rid of a few volumes that Aziraphale wanted, an offer he’d received (and rejected) on one of his misprinted Bibles, and how Halina was doing. The conversation turned to wine and they compared the red they were drinking with dinner to similar vintages and the positive and negative notes about the flavor and the year it was made. By the end of dinner, they’d finished two bottles and most of the food and Aziraphale was licking the last of the cream off his dessert fork, making Crowley’s mouth water and his trousers tighten just a bit. He could do much more impressive things with his tongue than Aziraphale could, but watching the angel catch a dollop of cream and pull it into his mouth was still tempting as...well...sin. 

The sitting room they favored was downstairs but that was a bit inconvenient for the time being so Crowley looked disapprovingly at the wall and the sitting room was the next room over, no stairs required. The fireplace was already stocked with wood and kindling so Crowley ignited the tip of his pointer finger and lit the old newspaper at the bottom. It gobbled up the paper and began in on the twigs and smaller sticks before migrating to the logs and settling there, crackling with an occasional pop. Crowley sat on the couch and peered over one shoulder at his angel. 

“I’m putting a record on. Anything you’d prefer?”

“No Beethoven,” Aziraphale said, polishing off the last of the wine, and Crowley complied, selecting a record from the shelf of them and putting it onto the turntable before lowering the needle into place. The music began, low and smoky--old jazz.

“Perfect.” Aziraphale brought two bottles of wine over with him and sat beside Crowley on the couch, handing him a glass.

“Another?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

This was familiar, they’d done it thousands of times, but it was almost new again with their changing relationship, with the way that Aziraphale didn’t look away when Crowley gazed at him with unfiltered affection and placed his sunglasses on a side table that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Excitement crackled low in his belly and Crowley was surprised to find that he was a little nervous--him! He had been inside Aziraphale (and vice versa) and the idea of snogging on a couch in front of a fire made something in his stomach flutter--what a wonderfully terrible thing it was to be able to act upon love.

Aziraphale took a sip of wine and sighed appreciatively.

“This is very cozy, my darling. Exactly the way to end a chilly, rainy day. It reminds me a bit of that time in Ireland, do you remember? Storm of the century, they called it and both of us in that gentleman’s fort waiting it out.”

“A ruiri’s castle, angel. Awful, drafty place. Damp too. And we all slept in the hall, remember?”

“You had your hair longer then,” Aziraphale said fondly. “You blended right in with them with those lovely curls.”

“Had to use a demonic miracle to keep the lice away--blasted things seemed to seek me out.”

“I had similar trouble,” the angel admitted. “Thank goodness we don’t catch their diseases or we’d both have gotten ill as well.”

“Do you remember why we were in Ireland?”

Aziraphale refilled his wine glass thoughtfully.

“Something with cattle, I believe.”

“Could have been sheep,” Crowley said. “Sheep were a bit of a big thing then. We ended up next to each other in the hall, didn’t we? For the night?”

“We were, yes. I think it was the longest I had ever been in contact with you before. We shared one of those woolen blankets with another fellow--Cairbre. Dreadful snoring, that one.”

“It did make the night drag on,” Crowley agreed. “You were so tempting, lying right there next to me, sharing a blanket. I nearly discorporated myself trying to act nonchalant.”

“Is that why you ignored me all night?”

“Resisting temptation isn’t exactly my forte,” the demon quipped. “I did my best.”

“What were you tempted to do?”

The angel sounded innocent, but Crowley knew better than to accept that. He recognized an invitation when he saw one.

“Just to hold you, maybe kiss you. Nothing untoward...unless you wanted something untoward of course.”

Aziraphale set down his wine glass.

“Perhaps we can relive that evening tonight--without the straw and the hall, naturally. But sharing a blanket on a rainy night in front of a fire sounds lovely.”

Crowley miracled a blanket into existence--well, more accurately he fetched one from Aziraphale’s linen closet--and with a flick of his wrist, spread it over them. Glancing at the wine glass that his angel had set down, he followed suit before stretching an arm over the back of the sofa so it rested across Aziraphale’s shoulders and neck. It was the sort of thing that teenagers did on second or third dates, testing the waters to see if this was acceptable to their partner.

He leaned in to murmur in Aziraphale’s ear, tucking a white blonde curl out of the way.

“If you like, I can be much less restrained this time.”

“I thought you’d never ask, dear boy.”

Starting out gentle, Crowley kissed him lightly on the mouth, brushed butterfly kisses to his cheeks and throat, sucked gently on his pulse point. Aziraphale was warm, responsive, moving and making little sounds in response to Crowley’s ministrations, kissing back whenever he had the opportunity. When the angle of his neck got too uncomfortable, he climbed onto Aziraphale’s lap, straddling his thighs as he cradled the principality’s face in his hands and continued the kissing in earnest. 

It didn’t stay gentle or chaste for long and Aziraphale’s hands were stroking up his spine, tugging on his hair, scratching lightly at the base of his skull while he poured himself into the act of kissing his angel. He tasted so good and again Crowley was struck by how right this felt, how familiar yet unknown. And then Aziraphale nipped at his lower lip and Crowley stopped thinking anything at all.

Sometime after midnight but before three in the morning, Crowley unbuttoned the top button of Aziraphale’s shirt and sucked a mark into his throat. Sometime after one but before four, Crowley knelt over his angel and gasped,

“Tell me angel, tell me what you want. Tell me how to make it good for you.”

They’d never had sex on the sofa before but Crowley did as he always did and made sure that Aziraphale was happy.

When they’d both finished and were laying entangled on the sofa, Aziraphale chuckled lightly.

“I certainly didn’t think this old sofa would bring anything new. You are always here to keep things interesting, my dear.”

“Wouldn’t want you getting bored, angel. Who knows what trouble you’d get into?”

“Foul fiend,” the angel replied lazily. “Be a good lad and pour me another glass of wine? I’d like to finish the bottle before we go again.”

“Hedonist.”

“Your very own hedonist, my love.”


	10. Lenore H

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking…

This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking…

Both Aziraphale and Crowley would deny until the next Armageddon that they had done any sort of miracles, demonic or not, to get Adam, Wensleydale, Brian, and Pepper’s parents all to agree to let them come and spend the summer in London. Well not spend it there as much as spend plenty of time there. Some platinum-level bus passes (which hadn’t existed until Aziraphale assumed that they did) were mailed to the children from their godfathers and they were encouraged to come up as often as they liked for the summer. The ride was only a little over an hour and a half and the children always seemed to have a book or magazine or small handheld game to play with for the duration of the ride. The bus wasn’t particularly crowded and the Them claimed a group of seats in the back of the bus, the very best part in their opinion, and set up a sort of camp there for the ride, complete with snacks and a blanket that Wensleydale brought in case he got tired on the way home. All of the Them ended up using the blanket at some point during the summer but since Wensleydale was the one who brought it and carried it and whose dad remembered to wash it, it was called ‘Wensleydale’s Blanket’.   
The first visit that AZ Fell and Co Antiquarian and Unusual Books had from Adam and the rest was not precisely what Aziraphale expected. It wasn’t that he didn’t like children, he liked them fine, but he had absolutely no idea what to do with them. He gave them a tour of the bookshop and didn’t seem to notice when the children got bored about halfway through and stopped paying any sort of attention until he got to the books on witchcraft and the occult.  
“Can we look at some?” Pepper asked eagerly, and Adam shot her a sidelong look. It was his job to ask the questions and make the suggestions, but he also wanted to look at the witchy books and so he didn’t argue.  
“Oh I don’t know,” Aziraphale dithered. He’d expected Adam to like some of the books that he himself had restored to the bookshop, things that Adam might read, but once children have banished the four horsemen of the Apocalypse and shouted down Satan, the ‘Just WIlliam’ books didn’t seem as engaging. If he was honest with himself, Aziraphale would have admitted he didn’t want the Them leafing through those either as they were valuable first editions.   
“Come on Angel,” Crowley drawled from the sofa. “You’re not one to keep knowledge from willing minds, are you?”  
“Well I suppose not,” the angel replied doubtfully. Crowley gave him a look over the rim of his glasses, golden and mischievous, and Aziraphale didn’t take longer than a moment to catch his drift. Just because he let the children look at occult books didn’t mean they had to look at any of the real or valuable ones. He pulled a few copies of assorted occult-looking books and handed them to the Them. For Adam, ‘Witchcraft and Warfare’, for Pepper, ‘Demonic Summoning and Possession’, for Wensleydale, ‘An Introduction to Ritual Sacrifice’, and for Brian, ‘The Perils of the Occult’. They were all utter nonsense, of course, but the foursome latched onto them and found another couch to pile onto and open books with the barely-contained glee of children who knew their parents wouldn’t approve.   
Crowley’s smile at Aziraphale, one of amusement and a little pride, warmed the angel’s belly. He looked over at the children, who were already engrossed in their books, and thought to himself that perhaps children weren’t all that difficult.   
They got maybe an hour and a half of quiet before the Them decided that while the books were interesting, they wanted to do something other than sit around a bookshop all day. Crowley, who liked children but would absolutely never admit it, had been expecting this for at least three levels of the game he was playing on his phone and was already thinking of mischief he could get into with four eleven year olds. Well, Wensleydale was twelve now, but the idea stood. They were still the age where they could pay children’s rates to go places but were ready and able to ask inappropriate questions and get into things they shouldn’t.   
“Who’d like to go see the Museum of Torture?” Crowley announced.  
All four of the children leapt to their feet. Wensleydale had the forethought to set his book down carefully and Brian at least kept his from falling to the floor, endearing themselves somewhat to Aziraphale.   
“Museum of Torture, my dear?” Aziraphale asked pointedly, straightening his bow tie.   
“You can stay at the bookshop if you like, angel. Figured I’d give the kids some excitement.”  
Aziraphale was torn between a nice quiet afternoon and his natural tendency to thwart whatever wiles Crowley happened to be peddling.   
“Oh I don’t know.”  
“I bet there’ll be loads of torture tools like thumbscrews!” Adam half-shouted and the angel winced a bit.   
“Very likely,” Crowley agreed. “Maybe we can get ice creams on the way.”  
“Darling,” Aziraphale’s tone managed to make the endearment sound like a warning, and Crowley turned to look at him for a moment before shaking his hand at the children.  
“All of you, use the toilet and wash your hands, then back to the door. Ezra just needs a moment of my time before we go.”  
Pepper protested that she didn’t need the loo, but Crowley gave her a look that made it very clear that refusal wasn’t actually an option. The four children bunched together and went off in search of the bathrooms. With that done, Crowley turned his full attention to Aziraphale.  
“The Museum of Torture?” Aziraphale repeated.  
“They’re kids, they like that sort of thing. And besides, they’ve already proven to be solidly for humanity so I’m not claiming their souls for Hell or anything like that. Just a bit of excitement. Besides, I’ve seen the museum. It’s pretty rubbish.”  
“I’ll be choosing the next outing then, and we’ll go somewhere wholesome. And not a church or anything, I’ll want you along to help manage them.”  
“Of course, angel. Once we set them on their bus home, why don’t I take you somewhere for supper and I can tell you all about the trip, hmm?”  
Aziraphale softened a bit, but still looked doubtful.   
“Well it’s that or letting them wreak havoc in the bookshop all afternoon. This way we’ll ride a few busses and the train and go to the museum and get ice cream and one of those loud jumping places where everything is a trampoline.”  
“Yes, that all sounds like quite a lot.”  
“It’s settled then. See you a bit before six?”  
The Them galloped forth from the back of the bookshop, energized by the promises of adventure and ice cream, settling the matter for Aziraphale completely. Crowley paused for a moment before giving Aziraphale a peck on the cheek and whisking the Them out the door.   
“Don’t do anything too demonic,” Aziraphale called after him, more for something to say than because of any actual concern. Crowley waved as he disappeared.  
Once the children and the demon were gone, Aziraphale looked around his bookshop and took an hour to make peace with the fact that his bookshop wasn’t a place that would interest the Them. If they were to visit frequently, he needed to get materials that they would read and would be enticing enough to keep them out of anything he wanted them to steer clear of. With a put-upon sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed the number of another bookshop in London, this one quite a bit less focused on the rare and antiquarian and a bit more focused on current trends and literature for young people.   
“Hello, Siobhan? Yes, Ezra Fell. I’m looking for some books to entertain a friend’s son and his friends--eleven and twelve. They seem to be interested in the macabre, witch burnings and they’ve just gone off to the museum of torture. I’m sure anything with activities would be welcome, as long as the activities didn’t need anything too special--models maybe? I’ve no idea what sorts of things children like.”  
After listening to Siobhan for a few minutes, he nodded.  
“Yes, thank you dear girl. I’ve written down the titles you suggested and the authors. Anything else you’d suggest?”  
Siobhan was warming to the topic and nearly an hour and a half later, Aziraphale had gotten not only a list of titles and authors, but a suggestion of topics that might interest the Them and a short history of the evolution of children’s and young adult literature. He then went to his computer and opened up the internet in search of children’s and young adult literature on a variety of topics.  
When Crowley returned at half past six with four somewhat deflated pre-teens, Aziraphale was on the phone again, though he bid the person good evening and hung up as soon as the bell on the door rang.   
“How was the museum?”  
“All right,” Brian said diplomatically, while Pepper said “Rubbish” at the same time.   
“Some good bits, some rubbish bits. The mannequins were really fake-looking,” Adam said. “But then we went to the trampoline park and Uncle Crowley got us all candy floss and ice creams and we played dodgeball. He’s really awful at jumping, though. Mostly he sat on the side and took video of us doing tricks on his phone. He saved them for you to look at.”  
“We’d better get you to the bus stop,” Aziraphale said. “Dear, why don’t you go get ready for dinner and I’ll get the children to the bus.”  
After the Them were safely headed home, Aziraphale came back into the bookshop to find Crowley sprawled across the couch, mouth open, snoring faintly. Instead of waking him, the angel dialed for takeaway from Crowley’s favorite Greek restaurant and went about locking up the shop.

The next day trip the Them took to London was met with an entire shelf of books that Azirapahle thought they’d find interesting. An Abridged History of the Salem Witch Trials was an instant favorite and the Them took turns reading bits of it aloud before they discovered Explosive Experiments, A Book for Young Chemists and set about raiding the kitchenette for supplies to make small explosions. Crowley set them up in the alley behind the bookshop and they spent that afternoon making a remarkable number of loud banging noises without losing any fingers. Aziraphale had to miracle one of Brian’s eyebrows back on, but they had a wonderful time. Having a stash of books for the Them when it was raining, one of which was a book instructing the reader in the creation of model war machines in miniature, made it an interesting summer for the angel, the demon, and several very concerned patrons who walked in on the Them chasing each other through the shop, chopping the heads off of dolls with a miniature guillotine, dramatically reading the death speeches of several martyrs, and performing an alarmingly realistic viking funeral for Wensleydale, who had lost the coin toss and had to be dead. The boat was made of cardboard boxes that had at one point held books and Crowley managed to convince them that burning it would mean they couldn’t play viking funeral again and would thus be a waste.   
In August, Adam had a party in Tadfield with his friends and received a visit from his godfathers. Much to the surprise and alarm of his parents, Adam received a motorbike which was just his size and much to their relief, a helmet and pads and a jacket to protect him if he fell off. Crowley rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers so the jacket at least looked cool.


	11. Elizabeth F.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people might assume that these stories are embellished or outright made up, but as a bookseller myself going on twenty years I believe every single one of them.  
That being said, I accidentally moved a rug and found chalk sigils that look like they belong in a cult. Make of that what you will.

The woman had been walking around the bookshop for over an hour, just browsing and taking notes in a little spiral-bound notebook. Crowley had paused his Golden Girls marathon just to keep an eye on her while pretending to play on his phone. It wasn’t the aimless browsing that he minded as much as the note-taking. Who took notes in actual notebooks anymore? Suspicious parties, that’s who. As the original suspicious party of creation, he got a bit tetchy when others tried to do his job in his--well, his angel’s--bookshop. That was his job, bless it.   
The woman seemed completely oblivious to him and Crowley checked to make sure that he was visible and in a human-looking corporation. When he was in a full glower, he was a bit hard to ignore, and he’d given at least two decently menacing glowers. He swiped away the pop-up ad over his game so he could play another level--the pop-ups were one of his, actually. Annoying, hard to close out of, and completely impossible to skip unless you happened to have a bit of demonic power at your fingertips. This one was advertising some kind of matching game, one very similar to what Crowley was currently playing. The ad was stubborn and took a few swipes with a bit of hellish menace to truly excuse itself, but once it was gone, Crowley leveled another glare at the woman.   
This one she must have caught the edge of because she started a little and tripped over the edge of a rug. Crowley smirked and went back to matching little icons to other little icons. He didn’t notice the woman study the floor and hastily re-cover it with the rug she’d tripped over, though he did notice her beeline for Aziraphale as soon as he stepped out of the office with a mug of cocoa. In a blink, he was standing and his fangs were out.  
“Elizabeth Fordham,” the woman said, extending a hand to the angel. He took it hesitantly and gave it a single, prim shake.   
“Mr. Fell,” he replied and Crowley relaxed a little, running his tongue along the curve of one fang as he waited for the barest hint that the woman meant his angel any ill will.   
“I’m actually writing a book and I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time to field a few questions.”  
Any tension that Aziraphale carried left him and he smiled.  
“Of course, dear girl. How can I help?”  
“Well I’m writing a travel guide, actually. ‘A Reader’s Guide to London’. As one of the oldest shops in SoHo, I wanted to include a chapter on you.”  
The angel tensed up again and Crowley did as well.  
“Oh heavens no,” he said, setting down the mug and adjusting his bow tie. “I wouldn’t want tourists just wandering in and touching things! Rare books are not for the layperson, you know.”  
“You have such a lovely collection of LGBT+ materials, though,” Elizabeth said.  
“You can say ‘queer’,” Aziraphale said snippily and Crowley sat back down, letting his fangs retract. Aziraphale in a huff was more than capable of getting rid of people he didn’t wish to speak to and managed to be adorable besides.  
“Queer materials then,” Elizabeth agreed. “It makes them accessible--I’ve actually been reading some reviews online and talking to some of your customers--they love the atmosphere you’ve created here. I had a student tell me you let her view some of your rarer volumes for a paper on religion?”  
“I have a few students who are allowed viewing privileges, yes.”  
“With all that you’re doing for the local community--hosting author signings, keeping queer materials in stock, having a children’s book club this past summer?--I think this is a place that readers will want to visit. And who other than lovers of books would buy a Reader’s guide to London?”  
Crowley was a bit impressed, despite himself. He was the original tempter and bargainer and he appreciated seeing his work continued. Aziraphale had actually paused to think about it, weighing in his mind the bother of new visitors against the good he could do. Crowley sighed loudly and the angel looked away from Elizabeth and at him, questioning.  
“Everything all right, my dear?”  
“Just seeing if this woman was bothering you, angel.”  
“Nothing to worry about, I’m quite able to manage.”  
He paused before turning back to Elizabeth.  
“I suppose it would be all right, provided that I was able to look over the section on my store before it went to publish...I’m rather protective of it. It’s been in the family for years.”  
“Naturally,” Elizabeth agreed. “Would you be willing to tell me a bit more about the history of the bookshop?”  
Crowley stood up again and strolled over, cupping Aziraphale’s right elbow in the palm of his hand.  
“You know, he could probably write out a timeline for you if you’d like. That way he can check his records and get all the dates verified.”  
‘That would be lovely,” Elizabeth agreed. “Would two weeks be enough for you to get everything together?”  
“Certainly my dear girl,” Aziraphale said. “In fact--”  
“In fact, he’d do it now if we didn’t have a date this evening,” Crowley interrupted. “If you get him started in all those old files, he’ll forget all about dinner and we’ll miss our reservation.”  
“I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. Shall I come round in two weeks, same time?”  
“Great,” Crowley blurted before Aziraphale could say anything. “He’ll be here.”  
Only after Elizabeth had left did Aziraphale turn to Crowley, face pinched and irritated.  
“Why did you feel the need to interrupt me?”  
“Because you can rattle off the date, day of the week, time, and phase of the moon it was when you signed this lease and nobody knows that much information. If she got you started, you’d give her more details than anyone could know and she’d ask more questions and you’d end up having to wipe some of her memory or have me do it.”  
“Ah,” Aziraphale replied, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I do tend to go on a bit, don’t I?”  
“And I enjoy listening to you,” Crowley soothed, “But this way seems safer for her memory, don’t you think?”  
“You enjoy listening to me?” Aziraphale asked, a smile at the edge of his lips. His tone had a hint of the bastard that Crowley loved in it and the demon backpedaled hurriedly.  
“I mean not all the time and not about everything and certainly not when you get in the mood to lecture, but--”  
The angel kissed him and Crowley shut up. When he paused to look into Crowley’s face, he purred,  
“You know my dear, that protective streak of yours can be very attractive.”  
“Ngk,” said Crowley. He was sure there were words he could use somewhere, but all of them seemed to vanish, especially when Aziraphale kissed him again, sliding his hands down Crowley’s spine to rest on his hipbones, one of them pausing to squeeze his arse and then rest on it somewhat possessively.  
“I think,” the angel said thoughtfully, “That I should close up early this afternoon, wouldn’t you say?”  
“Hnt,” Crowley said.  
“Exactly my thoughts, darling. While I do that, perhaps you could go upstairs and see about what we’ll do after the shop is closed?”  
Crowley nodded dumbly and nearly tripped over his own legs trying to make his way to the stairs in the back that led up to Aziraphale’s flat. A moment after he had vanished there was a thump as someone fell on the stairs and scrambled back to their feet. Aziraphale looked fondly after his love before beginning to tidy up the shop, his thoughts already on what precisely he would do to show Crowley how much he appreciated the demon looking after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Crowley very much enjoyed the fruits of Aziraphale's appreciation. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am juggling a lot of life stuff right now, this will not be a weekly update like it was with the last fic. I'll get to it when I can, but I have several other high-priority projects happening in my life and this fic isn't at the top of my to-do list. I will write the whole thing, it just might take a bit.


End file.
